Trapped
by miss-olivia-winchester
Summary: When Archie eavesdrops on the Blossoms and hears some damning information, he's caught. The Blossoms have some sinister plans for him and Archie knows there's no easy way out of this.
1. Eavesdropping

" _Oh, Archie. Sometimes I think you may be the only decent person left in Riverdale. The only person who doesn't want something from me. Or who doesn't want me to apologize for who I am...or what I want."_

There was a bitter gnawing in Archie's stomach as he walked away from Cheryl, fists clenched at his sides. He should've known better. He should've known Cheryl would use him like this, but here he was: always trusting, always hoping for the best in people only to be sorely disappointed. His feet crunched on the thin layer of snow over the concrete walkway, the chemical taste of Cheryl's lipstick still in his mouth. She'd forced her tongue in, just when he thought he'd made it clear he could be a good friend and not much else. As he was walking towards his dad's truck, the lowered voices of the Blossom parents caught his ears, hushed and derisive.

"They seem satisfied, but Uncle Bedford keeps asking about the drive-in land."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Archie took careful steps towards a tall bush separating him and the Blossoms. With just enough space in the branches, he could see everything-he was within view, but luckily they hadn't seen him as he paused by the bushes.

"I am so close to getting that land back," Clifford grumbled, holding his champagne glass expertly. "Hermione Lodge will crumble," he promised.

"Who would've thought she'd prove so resourceful?" No matter what Penelope said, she sounded contemptuous. Then, almost as an afterthought, she said casually, "Maybe we should've sent her to jail instead of Hiram."

Archie took in a quick breath. He couldn't help it. If the Blossoms had put Veronica's father in jail, they had their fingers in far more than they claimed-and they were much more powerful than he'd thought. But the Blossoms weren't deaf. Almost predatory, the couple snapped their gaze towards Archie, their eyes locking onto him immediately. Panic flared in Archie, his eyes widening as he stumbled back, his heart racing. Penelope's eyes narrowed and she murmured, "Looks like we found a Peeping Tom, Clifford dear."

A patronizing smile spread on her husband's face. "Security's around the corner, Archibald. You might as well come out from behind those bushes."

Archie scrambled away from the scene, nearly tripping. His heart thudded in his chest, setting every nerve on fire as he raced towards the truck and away from the secret he'd just discovered. But Clifford Blossom hadn't lied-the second Archie turned the corner around the lodge, he ran into something-or someone. Two men, wearing suits and disapproving frowns, glared down at him with crossed arms. His breathing shallow and haggard, Archie turned back to the formidable couple, who were now both closer.

Clifford held up what looked like a small remote and remarked, "Really, it's quite convenient to have access to a security team using something that fits in your pocket." His more amiable expression faded to a dark scowl as he said, "Just like it's convenient that you happened to be here to witness what my wife and I just discussed. You did hear us, after all-didn't you, Archibald?"

"Look," Archie said, "I was just on my way to my truck so I could head back home; I don't want any trouble-"

"Yet you've walked right into it," Penelope scoffed. Lips pursed, she caught sight of something on Archie's face. "Archibald," she said slowly, deceptively pleasant. "Is that Cheryl's lipstick?"

He swallowed, glancing over at the pool and half-wishing that Cheryl would walk over and talk some sense into her parents. But she was gone, and Archie was alone. "It-it wasn't my fault, okay? She-"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Penelope laughed, startling Archie.

"Wait-what?"

The Blossom matriarch smirked, crossing her arms and saying, "Cheryl is a Blossom, and she gets what she wants."

A shiver ran down Archie's spine, and he put his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry I eavesdropped, but can I just go home now?"

'Yes.' It's what Archie wanted to hear. As silence stretched on, the Blossoms looking at each other in wordless communication, Archie willed them to say yes. Time seemed to stand still, and a lump formed in his throat. Were they actually considering not letting him go home?

"No."


	2. It All Falls Apart

**A/N: So I guess this is an AU where Polly isn't at Thornhill? I don't know I guess I just realized it after I wrote it and I'm too lazy to change it. :')**

Archie Andrews woke up on a four poster bed in a wide sprawl of a room, dimly lit with a fireplace on a far wall and Gothic decoration throughout. A sharp pang went through his head as he sat up, and he grabbed his forehead with a quiet groan. Shit. What had-oh. Right.

He'd eavesdropped on the Blossoms, overhearing a crucial fact about their heavy involvement in Hiram Lodge's incarceration. And for some damn reason, he'd turned his back on the security they'd called, allowing him to be hit on the back of the head as Clifford and Penelope Blossom watched heartlessly. Running his hands over his face, Archie squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could just wake up now, saying hi to his Dad before going on a run and then heading off to school. But this wasn't a dream-this was real, all of it. Why did the Blossoms think they could knock him out and not let him leave? They would lose their company, their status, and most definitely end up in jail. So why was Archie here? They couldn't keep him there forever.

Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed before getting a firm footing to stand up, he decided to try his luck at escaping. The windows were closed and most likely locked, and the door, Archie assumed, was locked as well. Didn't mean he couldn't try. Running up to the door, he tugged on the handle, pushing against the wood with his shoulder. But brute force wasn't enough. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Archie let go and went to the window. He tried an experimental push, then jiggled with the bottom latch, all to no avail.

"I know how this looks."

Archie whirled around, startled. Cheryl stood there by the now open door. She wouldn't meet his eyes. Archie gritted his teeth, glaring as he said, "What the hell is this?"

Her hands were at her sides, absentmindedly playing with the folds of her dress. "You're supposed to come down for breakfast."

Archie let out a humorless laugh. "I'm not going anywhere but out the front door. You can't stop me, Cheryl." He strode over to the door, ignoring Cheryl's protests as he shoved past her and entered the hallway.

"You'll get caught," Cheryl told him, and Archie couldn't tell if she was matter-of-fact or sympathetic. He didn't really care. He caught sight of the staircase and ran down, his socked feet slipping once or twice. He could see the front door, towering and grand and only twenty feet away. Sprinting to get there, he almost didn't hear Clifford's chiding voice.

"Not so fast, Archibald."

Archie disregarded him, grabbing hold of the doorknob like a lifeline and shaking it-locked. Muscles tightening in his back and shoulders, he closed his eyes, breathing quietly. Turning around slowly, Archie murmured, "What do you want."

"That's complicated," Penelope said with a sharklike smile. "Sit down to breakfast and we'll tell you everything."

Hating the Blossoms and their house and his own willingness to do what they asked, Archie walked over to the dining room and pulled out a chair. Sitting down, he glared up at them. His fingernails dug into his palms and he hissed through his clenched jaw, "Let me go."

"Let's talk first," Penelope said, still standing with her hands clasped in front of her primly. "You and Cheryl make a lovely pair and you're a fine, hardworking young man. Not to mention you possess the trademark Blossom hair color."

Archie's voice shook. "So?"

"So," Clifford said, "You could be valuable to us."

Archie's stomach plunged and his voice came out a whisper, "What?"

Hauntingly casual, Penelope said, "We have a proposition for you. You'll live with us, here at Thornhill, and marry Cheryl. After all, your bloodline has existed within Riverdale for generations, just like us."

"I'll call the police," Archie said quietly. "I'll break a window, or slip out somehow. You can't keep me here."

"On the contrary," Penelope said with a sharklike smile, "You'll stay. I guarantee it." She stepped over to him, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear, uncomfortably close, "Because if you don't, your father will have a very unfortunate accident. So will Valerie. And young Mr. Jones. And anyone else we decide upon. Do you understand?"

Archie's face drained of blood. How could he possibly voice the thoughts racing through his head? His eyes stared into open space, appearing calm but masking his racing heartbeat and sweaty palms. His mouth was too dry to answer. The Blossoms were threatening to hurt everyone he loved, and he knew they weren't bluffing. But if this was what he needed to do to keep them away from his friends and family, he would do it.

"Archibald, do you understand?" Penelope snapped, and Archie kept himself from pushing her to the ground.

Closing his eyes, Archie shuddered before answering in a croak. "Yes."

"Good." Penelope stood straight, her eyes still watching Archie's reaction closely with distaste. "You can go to your room now. Cheryl is most likely waiting for you."

A numbness engulfed Archie as he stood up and walked away from the Blossoms. Away from the front door. Away from his freedom.

At least there was hope in this. Cheryl wasn't like her parents, not completely. Maybe Archie could convince her to help him, or at least get a message out to his dad or Jughead. But when he reached the room he'd woken up in (he would _not_ call it his room), any trace of Cheryl's shame in her involvement was gone.

"Hi there, Archiekins." She greeted him with a sly smile, her eyes holding a flicker of greed as they scanned him.

There was a tic in Archie's jaw as he walked past her to the window. "Can you please not call me that?" That was what Veronica called him. Archiekins. At the window, Archie looked out onto the grounds of Thornhill, feeling a wave of overwhelming desperation crash over him. He didn't belong here. What if he never made it out? The grounds were so huge, not to mention the locked gate at the end of the drive. _And the threat made towards his family and friends._

Cheryl sashayed over, ending next to Archie. "Why the long face?"

Archie scowled, glancing at her with unbridled disgust. "Are you kidding me?"

Cheryl broke character for a split second, swallowing and looking down before assuming her role yet again. "What's there to be gloomy about? You'll never want for anything, ever again."

"Except for my parents. My friends. My life." Archie's throat was clogged with emotion and he looked down. "My freedom."

There was no reply, only a floorboard creak after a long pause. When Archie looked up, Cheryl was gone.


	3. Breakfast Club

Archie didn't sleep. How could he? This nightmare was becoming more and more real with every hour, with every failed hope throbbing in his head. His phone had been taken at some point after he'd been knocked out, so there was no chance of any concealed pleas for help. Part of him almost wanted to ask Cheryl about using hers, but he knew it was a huge risk. Chances were, she'd reject him, and maybe even tell her parents about his request. Archie knew that if she wasn't buried neck-deep in her parent's control and the fear of what they'd do, Cheryl would help him out of this mess. He just realized that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Clifford came into the room at 7 o'clock sharp, demanding that Archie get out of bed. Clutching folds of the sheets covering him, Archie looked over at him, making sure the man knew he was awake but refusing to move. Clifford frowned, turning to the armoire in the corner and opening it with frustrated, jerky movements. "Put this on and come down to breakfast."

"Or what?" Archie challenged. Maybe they could make him stay here, but who said anything about compliance with the little things?

"Or you won't _get_ breakfast," Clifford snapped, "or any other meal today." With that, he threw a few items of clothing on the end of the bed.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Archie locked eyes with him and said, "I'm gonna get out of here. It doesn't matter what you do."

Clifford Blossom smirked. "Whatever you say, Archibald. Just remember we have the upper hand."

Archie waited until he was out of the room, and began to breathe heavily. He was hyperventilating, acting like a child...but he was scared. He wasn't going to deny it. Would it be so terrible if he refused to change and leave the room? It would be a thrilling act of defiance, for sure. But if he ever hoped to have the strength to run like hell and get out of that place, he'd need to play along until he had the perfect moment, or at least the best moment he could get. So he stood up, pulling off his sweaty clothes and putting on the itchy, expensive turtleneck and suit jacket, along with ironed pants and dress shoes. He passed his reflection on his way to the door. He closed his eyes.

The dining room was lavishly set as always, and the Blossom family sat smiling as they welcomed him. A flawless façade. Penelope started the pointless table gossip just as Archie sat down and a plate of fruit, toast, and eggs was put in front of him by a maid. "The new gardener seems quite capable."

"Yes, I just met him this morning," Clifford replied, glancing subtly at Archie to make sure he was dressed and eating. "I thought we could take a tour of the grounds today. For old time's sake."

Archie sat up straighter in his chair, clearing his throat. "Could I-"

"Unfortunately, it would be unwise to allow you out of the house."

The lump in Archie's throat wouldn't go away. His eyes fell to his lap, a gnawing pit in his stomach. There was a pressure on his shoulders and head; he wanted to curl up within himself. He felt claustrophobic, caged. Tuning everything out, Archie almost didn't hear Penelope's voice call across the table emphatically.

"Archibald, I asked you if you like your room." All eyes were on him now, and Archie blinked rapidly. _Play along._

"Um, yeah. It's-it's great." That was a lie. "I just miss my old room, you know. And everything else." That was definitely the truth.

Clifford said with a frown, "Yes. Well. It's time you leave that all behind."

Stiff silence ensued until Cheryl asked, "So will Archie be going to school anymore?" Archie looked over at her, and she shied away from his gaze, avoidant and guilty.

"It's a long story," Penelope said, dismissive as she picked at her salad. "We've hired a private tutor for Archie, and that's all you need to know." Tension and intrigue hung thick in the air, distorted sunlight shining through the large dining room windows. Dust danced in the sunbeams, and if Archie listened closely, he could hear birds chirping and tree branches swaying in the breeze. God, he wanted to leave. It was so tangible, so possible it made his head ache-if he really tried, he could push past any defenses the Blossoms put up and get the hell out of there. He'd only been locked inside the mansion like a bird in a gilded cage for one full day, and already he felt like he would be trapped forever, like he couldn't breathe and he might never properly breathe again.

"How are you gaining custody of me?" The words tumbled out out of his mouth before he could stop them, and immediately all of the Blossoms had their eyes on him. His face flushed, and his gaze dropped, but Clifford answered him anyway.

"A tricky ordeal. By now, your father will certainly be concerned for your whereabouts, as will your friends. We've arranged for a certain few to receive a little...message about your situation. And theirs. What will happen if they decide to investigate too deeply or visit you."

Archie clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind together and his fists' fingernails dig into his palms. "You're threatening them even when I comply?" His voice was deep, guttural with rage. He met eyes with the Blossom couple, shooting daggers with his glare.

"A reminder," Penelope said, cold and condescending. "Not to mention that we need them to understand the gravity of the situation."

"Which is?" Archie knew he sounded desperate. Emotional. Demanding. But he needed these people to know that they could not control him, not really.

Clifford stood up, towering over Archie with a dark, disapproving expression. "Nothing that needs to be discussed at this very moment. Archibald, would you please leave us?"

 _Gladly_. Archie left the dining room, his fingernails threatening to break the soft skin of his palms. He needed time to think anyway. Anything to get away from this psycho family and their need to feel like they own him. He would keep a level head, but only for a while longer. Afterwards...Archie couldn't guarantee he'd be civil.


	4. To Whom It May Concern

Sunlight flooded the streets of Riverdale as adults and teenagers flocked to work and school. Birds chirped and children laughed and Jughead Jones knew, irrevocably, that something was wrong. Off, somehow. He just didn't know what. He voiced his concerns to Betty as he walked with her to their first hour class, quiet and hesitant.

"Why do you think something's wrong?" Betty asked, concern lacing her voice as her eyebrows furrowed and her blue eyes stared ahead. She looked over at him and frowned. "Is it Archie?" She lowered her voice. "Because I'm getting kind of a bad feeling about him too."

Jughead started to smile. "What, is it because of his music or his grades or the way he doesn't wear a seatbelt sometimes? Because there's already a mother bear in the Cooper household."

Betty punched his arm playfully, laughing. "No, stupid, he just hasn't been answering my calls."

Jughead's smile started to fade. He scratched the back of his neck lightly and sighed, "Yeah, me neither."

"Maybe we should talk to Veronica."

"Or maybe his girlfriend?" Jughead was raising an eyebrow and Betty rolled her eyes, fighting a grin.

"I almost forgot. Archie's a lucky man," Betty said, half-joking, half-not. "So should we ask Valerie if she'd heard from him?"

"Heard from who?" Veronica Lodge was sitting in the desk right ahead of the two as they sat down, and Jughead jumped the slightest bit.

"You know, sometimes eavesdropping is considered impolite," Jughead said with a light chuckle, breathy and shaking his head. "We were just noticing the suspicious lack of Archie."

Veronica furrowed her eyebrows in thought. "Well, where do we know he was last? The Blossoms, right?"

Betty crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "That's right. He should've been back with information about Polly yesterday morning. Me and my mom were expecting him at our house, but he never showed. I texted him, but…"

"No answer," Jughead said, a grim frown on his face. Betty nodded.

"Well, what do we want to do?" Veronica said, looking between the two. "I don't know if it'd be the best idea to storm the castle just yet. I mean, we haven't even looked at his house yet, or asked his dad where he could be."

"Then that's what we'll do." Jughead's voice was firm, unwavering.

Betty looked up at the clock just as the the bell rang, sighing. "Well, after school, anyway."

The three met in the Blue and Gold's room, Jughead and Betty lounging on the couch until Veronica walked in. "Archie will just be at home with a flu. That's all it'll be."

Jughead exhaled quietly. "I hope so." He started to stand, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, when he felt his phone vibrate violently within his jacket pocket. Frowning, he reached into the pocket and pulled it out, staring at the screen for a full minute with an odd expression on his face.

"What?" Betty eyes were on him, worried as she played with her shirt collar absentmindedly. "What is it?"

"Oh my god," Jughead said, his voice breaking as he fell back onto the couch. "Shit." He looked up, solemnly telling the two, "I think I know why Archie's not returning our calls."

He passed his phone to Veronica and Betty, allowing them to see the same thing he'd seen. Betty covered her mouth with her hand, and Veronica shook her head repeatedly. "We have to show this to Mr. Andrews," Betty said, her voice firm but quiet. Shaken, Veronica and Jughead nodded.

They all arrived at the Andrews household minutes later, knocking on the door frantically and pacing back and forth on the doorstep. A minute or two passed and Fred finally opened the door, harried and disheveled. Bags under his eyes sank his expression, and a frown pulled deeply at his face. "Did you get it too?" The teenagers looked at each other, then back to Mr. Andrews, nodding. Fred swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. "Come in," he said, gesturing behind him. Veronica, Betty, and Jughead all walked into the house, sitting on the living room's chairs and couches uneasily. Floorboards creaked as Fred made his way into the room after closing the door, slow and aching and defeated. "I don't know what I'm going to do." Betty slid her hand into Jughead's almost subconsciously, her eyes on Archie's dad. His eyes were on the floor. "You read what they said. This isn't-there's no easy way out of this."

Jughead glanced at Betty's hand in his. "We'll figure this out," Betty promised, ever the optimist. Jughead pulled his phone out again, staring at the words on the screen with a gnawing anger in his stomach.

 _To whom it may concern,_

 _Archibald Andrews is a Blossom now. We realize that simple people have difficulties accepting simple truths, so this notification is simply a reminder of what we can do-what we will do-if pushed to a certain point. Not only will you refrain from any attempted contact with Archibald, but you will relinquish all ties with him. Fred Andrews, you will begin the legal processes of transferral in guardianship. All friends of Archibald, including but not limited to Jughead Jones, Elizabeth Cooper, Veronica Lodge, and Valerie Brown, will sever all relationships with him and will not seek to restore him to his previous positions. What we are willing to do to secure this is beyond your control. To ensure that you make the right decisions, there have been safeguards put into place. People to watch you and report to us if you decide to act rashly or tell anyone any of this. Traps within law enforcement, the high school, the town itself. Not to mention the young man we have in our custody. If any of these safeguards begin to fail, there are many ways to convince impressionable young people to do what they are told. Fred Andrews is expected to contact us discreetly within 48 hours concerning Archibald's legal guardian. The rest of you are advised to forget about Archibald Andrews._

 _The Blossoms_

Jughead wanted to punch a wall. Maybe burn something down. He wasn't going to do what the Blossoms told him to, and he sure as hell wasn't going to just 'forget' about his best friend. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that the Blossoms were not going to get away with it. They were going to pay, even if it tore him apart. He at least owed that to Archie. To himself. He would make them suffer. He just had to figure out how.


	5. Avoidance

Archie spend the next day reading. It was all he could really do, besides dream of getting the hell out of there. He didn't want to leave his room-wait. _It was not his_. He was starting to slip up. He couldn't afford to make mistakes, even minor mental ones, not when the stakes were so high. Instead he would think, plan, keep his mind sharp while he was being held like a prisoner of war in this Gothic nightmare. Because that's what he was-he realized that now. As much as the Blossoms would like to deny it, it was an added bonus that taking Archie from everyone else meant subtle revenge and warning against the Coopers and Fred Andrews. It was a promise, a demonstration of what they could do and more. All Archie was was a stupid pawn in this pointless war. A valuable one, at that, but still just a piece in their game.

Sometimes when he sat by the fire reading, he would catch the faint shadow of Cheryl just beyond his door, pausing before disappearing. Cheryl wanted to help, he could tell. He just wished there were more opportunities for them to talk without the poisonous gazes of Clifford and Penelope at their backs. Unfortunately, those chances weren't presenting themselves today.

Clifford barged in, startling Archie in his seat. "Put that book down, Archibald; I've got to tell you something." Grinding his teeth together, Archie closed his book slowly and looked up at Clifford. The man held his head high as ever, looking down on Archie with his natural contempt. "We all do. Follow me down to the drawing room, please." And with that, he left the room, calling back, "Don't make me call security, Archibald." Archie rolled his eyes and stood up. This shit was getting tiresome, to say the least.

He followed the man down the stairs to another unreasonably extravagant, magazine-esque room where Penelope and Cheryl sat, waiting. "I have an announcement to make," Penelope said, standing up as Clifford motioned forcefully that Archie sit. "As of now, the only people who know of your engagement to Cheryl are myself and Clifford. But recently, we've started planning a dinner party to announce it, an event for the Blossom family members and shareholders of the company. Now, we've only got a few days to get ready, so let's make the most of it. Archie, you'll be fitted for a suit tomorrow. Cheryl, you can borrow something of mine, I don't really care. I'll expect you both to be on your best behavior." Penelope glanced pointedly at Archie. "Now, I have things to do, so you're both dismissed." Cheryl's parents left the room, leaving Archie and Cheryl to sit awkwardly on the mildly dusty, expensive upholstery as the echo of a ticking clock filled the tense silence.

"Well," Cheryl breathed, standing up. "I should probably do my homework. I haven't missed this much school in a while."

So that was how she was avoiding the blame. She hadn't stepped foot in Riverdale High since Archie had been taken prisoner, and for good reason. Cheryl was terrible at facing her own demons, her own mistakes. She could still barely look Archie in the eye, which would be a little problematic if they were supposed to pretend to be in love in a few days. Then again, who said anyone at the dinner party expected love? They probably expected advantage, power, genetic favor. The people Archie would have to see and meet in just a few short days disgusted him, and he knew that no amount of time until then would prepare him for it. Who knew if they would even care if they found out about Archie being there against his will? Archie, for a brief moment, had clung to the hope that he might be able to talk to someone, get them to help him somehow. But once he thought about it, he understood. The people at this dinner party would be just like the Blossoms-manipulative, cruel, apathetic towards his pain...Archie would never be able to rely on them.

He practically hid out in his room until the next day, when a security guard rapped quickly on the bedroom door and burst in, ordering curtly that Archie come with him. Archie assumed it was about being fitted for a suit, or a new one, at least. The black and red suit he'd worn just days ago at the banquet was still being cleaned, and apparently it wasn't proper for him to wear the same suit twice in a row. Either way, he was right about the fitting, except that Clifford lurked near the far window of the room Archie had been brought to. Swallowing and blinking nervously and repetitively, Archie tried to let his unease go, but it coiled and tightened inside of him like a snake around its prey. He didn't want to let his simultaneous fear and contempt show, but it was practically oozing out of him-Clifford was excellent at reading people, and Archie absolutely sucked at acting.

"I wasn't going to be here for this. But you need to be reminded that if this dinner party goes south, you won't be the only person affected." He walked slowly over to Archie, who was now standing on a slightly raised platform and fiddling with his sweater anxiously. Clifford noticed his nervous gestures but said nothing, only sneering, "If I or Penelope notice anything other than what we expect-polite, relaxed, happy-we won't hesitate to take action."

The tailor entered the room then, and Clifford gave him a quick, courteous smile. Archie stared at Clifford, searching for any measure of regret or empathy, and the tailor cleared his throat, dragging his attention away. Gesturing that Archie turn, the tailor examined him and eventually said, "I'm going to need you to take your clothes off."

Clifford smirked. He liked it when Archie was off-balance, embarrassed; Archie could tell. He was probably easier to manipulate that way. "Could you leave the room, please?" he finally got out, trying to keep his voice from shaking. The Blossom patriarch did as he was asked, though not without the silent communication via eye contact that _this wasn't over yet._ After the door closed, Archie started undressing. As he took off his clothes, he felt a bright red splotchiness crawling up his neck and onto his face, shame sinking in his stomach like a lead weight. He already felt vulnerable simply being at Thornhill against his will, his every move watched and noted. He already felt naked, and now he was. He kept his underwear on, though, as the tailor took his measurements and scribbled them down on a notepad. Looking out the window, Archie tried to focus on the sunlight, the trees in the distance. Even if he could go outside once, maybe he could close his eyes and pretend he wasn't going to be kept at Thornhill forever.

 _No, you can't think like that._

Oh, but Archie could. He was fantastic at dwelling on every single mistake he made, every single detail he wished he could change. Now he was trapped in an inescapable situation that either resulted in his father or friends getting hurt, big time, or Archie himself becoming the Blossoms' plaything, their pawn. So of course he was going to let this shitty mindset in. He had nothing better to do.


	6. Fear and Loathing

Thornhill was abuzz the next day, with consultants and florists and extra hands to help move chairs and the like. At the moment, no one needed Archie, which was a huge relief. Most everyone was on the first level, so Archie took the opportunity to wander cautiously through the halls of the second floor. The polished hardwood gleamed in the dim hallway lamplight as he soft-stepped on it, glancing into empty rooms and closets or pausing in front of windows. If he ever wanted to leave, he had to know his way around. A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that he needed to find a place of his own if he was going to stay there for the rest of his life, but he tried to focus on the fading sounds of chatter and the faint undertone of floor polish. For some reason, Thornhill felt smaller when Archie was inside. He wasn't a little kid anymore, biking up to the gates of the mansion on a dare and racing away as soon as he could. He wished he could run away now, the way he used to.

As he came up on another room, the soft creaking of a door could be heard and he narrowed his eyes, stepping quietly towards the sound. The next room's door was slightly ajar, and Archie held his breath as he pushed it open slowly to reveal a dark, musty little room with a desk and some chairs covered with dust-coated sheets. "Hello?" he whispered, eyes scanning the sheet-covered furniture. "Is anyone there?" Part of Archie wished the mansion was haunted. Maybe it was the child in him, wanting adventure. Maybe it was just the chance that he would be killed.

"Jason? Is that you?" Archie nearly jumped clean out of his shoes. The hoarse, creaky voice of an elderly woman came from behind him, near the door he'd come through but still inside the room. Maybe Thornhill _was_ haunted. Spinning around, Archie caught sight of a woman in a wheelchair, well past her 80's with white hair-and a lock of red near the front. Her glassy eyes locked onto him and she laughed: an odd, chilling sound. "No, you're not Jason. He's dead now, isn't he?"

"Ye-yes. Yeah. I'm definitely not-not him." Archie stumbled over his words, blinking rapidly. He tried to make sure his voice didn't crack, but it had a mind of its own. "Who are you, by the way?"

The old woman pulled her blanket over her legs more securely. "Nana Rose. I take it I'll be your Nana soon, my boy."

Archie couldn't swallow. He nodded, but it felt like betrayal. To himself, to his friends and his father who were counting on him to escape someday.

"Well, Archibald, I only hope you're comfortable here."

 _As comfortable as I can be in a cage._ Archie pulled the best smile he could at the time, which was kind of awful effort-wise, and mindlessly agreed with her before slipping past her into the hallway and towards his room.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling for a seemingly endless amount of time. Really, it was only until about midnight, but he had a lot to think about. What would everyone in Riverdale do? What were they thinking? What lies were they being fed, and what did they believe? Would his dad actually comply and give him over to these monsters? He kept running over how it had happened, what he'd done, what he could have done differently.

At 12:30, it hit Archie that there was something he'd forgotten, something that could help him escape. Sitting up in an instant, his eyes lit up and he started to smile-a real smile, one that cracked his lips and made his face hurt. _Shit_ , he thought. _I might actually get out of here._

The truck. He'd left it parked in the banquet hall's parking lot, but he'd seen it two days ago out a window, parked near the many cars of the Blossoms. He'd recognize it anywhere. When he was little, his parents used to sit him in the bed of that truck, creating a makeshift belt so he could feel the wind in his hair and stare at the clouds whenever they drove somewhere. And now that truck was within reach. He just needed to find the keys to it, and if that didn't work...well, Jughead had taught him how to hotwire a car the summer in between 8th and 9th grade. All it took was time and concentration. That's what it would take to make it through this situation in general, too. He needed time to himself, and the concentration not to explode.

It was hard to keep his excitement about his realization quiet and unnoticeable the next day, especially when Cheryl wasn't completely rude to him the next day, chatting with him in his bedroom- _not_ his. Cheryl was currently explaining how they weren't actually getting married for another couple years. Archie had to fight the urge to laugh. He was so high on this idea of escaping that he felt invincible-when he got out of here, and even now, this was and would be a ridiculous nightmare he would wake up from. He would never marry Cheryl (a laughable idea in and of itself), much less stick around. His gaze drifted towards the window and he heard Cheryl snap, "Hey!" Blinking, Archie looked back at her and apologized.

"Sorry...uh, what were you saying?"

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Jocks. The attention span of a sparrow."

Archie scoffed jokingly. "Um, excuse me, that offends me," he said, mockingly exaggerated.

Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes, Cheryl peered at Archie for a moment before saying, "You're different today. Happier. Why?"

His heart rate rising, Archie swallowed before pulling a smile and telling her, "I'm just glad to have someone to talk to. It's been pretty lonely here." She wasn't on to him...was she? And even if she was, even a little bit, would she tell her parents? Changing the subject, Archie tried to remain casual as he asked, "So when do you plan on going back to school?"

He watched her reaction closely, but aside from a brief glance down, she appeared stoic and calm. "I'm not sure yet. Maybe not at all." When Archie raised his eyebrows, she continued, "Well, Mommy and Daddy are getting you a tutor. Why not join in on the fun?"

Archie locked gazes with her, analyzing her murky black-brown eyes for any trace of guilt, of hesitance. But there was nothing. Archie couldn't read people for shit, and Cheryl was exceptional at masking every last thought behind carefully applied makeup and a slightly judgemental expression. He nodded, pretending to agree. Sighing, Archie looked out the window again. "Not much to do here, huh?"

Cheryl shrugged, examining her nails with diminishing interest. "I guess not. I tried to help set up but apparently I was just getting in the way."

That was good. The Blossoms were too busy setting up; maybe Archie could slip past their watchful eyes and see if he could find the truck's keys somewhere. Hot-wiring the vehicle was a last resort, since it was slow going and Archie wasn't that great at it. Standing up, Archie suggested to Cheryl, "Maybe I can try to help."

Cheryl looked him up and down, eventually sighing, "Sure. Have at it, Archiekins."

Archie bit his tongue, restraining himself from acting upon his annoyance of her usage of the nickname again. Walking out the door, he glanced back at Cheryl. He wondered for a brief second if he could ever trust her. Hopefully, he could escape before he needed to test that. He made his way down the stairs and towards the dining room, where Clifford and Penelope were sitting and discussing the guest list with a tall woman holding a clipboard. Clifford looked up the minute Archie entered the room, smiling as he stood up.

"Pardon me, Delphine. Penelope." He excused himself from the two and walked up to Archie, taking hold of his elbow and leading him out of the room. Archie threw up a little in his mouth, disgust and contempt flushing his cheeks as he flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw. They'd threatened him and others, but they'd never laid a hand on him. "Listen," Clifford said once they'd stopped in the hall, surprisingly not condescending or menacing, "I have an offer for you. More like a gift, really."

Archie's lips curled into a sneer. "A gift? What could you have to offer me that I would ever possibly accept?"

Clifford smirked, still appearing to have the upper hand. "I knew you would refuse before hearing what I have to say. You're impulsive that way. Headstrong. Brave. Stupid." Archie scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "Now listen to what I'm offering you. Because of your good behavior, and as an incentive to continue behaving so at the betrothal announcement, Penelope and I will allow you a supervised video call to your father. In addition, you are allowed access to our piano and the possibility of someone retrieving the guitar we gave you from your house."

Archie's heart stopped. Or at least, he thought it did. After the words 'call to your father' everything became an echo; the idea of playing music again was intoxicating but not as much as the possibility of seeing his father's face again, albeit via screen. Part of him wanted to refuse Clifford out of sheer hate, or basic principle. To kick him, spit on him for daring to entice Archie to comply with tempting pieces of the life he had before. _It won't work_ , he screamed in his head, but that's the thing. It was fucking working. Stuttering unintelligible phrases before finally forming words, Archie nodded continuously, eventually saying, "Yes! Yes, of course; I'll be on my best behavior. When-when can I see my dad?"

He knew Clifford could see the desperation in his eyes, his voice. He knew because Clifford fed off of it, knowing he was in control and gaining more of it. At the moment, Archie didn't really care. He just wanted to see his dad. Straightening his posture, Clifford replied, "That is to be determined. But we will make it happen."

Archie nodded, starting to smile—god, really smile—hating himself for doing it but almost breaking down at the thought of finally talking to his dad after being in this hellhole for more than five days. It had almost been a week now; tomorrow would be his seventh day trapped at Thornhill. With any luck, he wouldn't have to stay here any longer than that.


	7. A Fresh Face

**A/N: So sorry this is incredibly late! My laptop broke down and it's been hard writing lately. I know this is short but the next one will be longer I promise!**

 **Chapter 7: A Fresh Face**

The deal was simple, or at least it seemed that way to Archie. He would endure this dinner party, quieting his rebellious thoughts in exchange for a video call to his father and the chance to play guitar again. He wondered for a brief second if it would be easier to forget escaping using the truck—what if he got caught? He would lose the chance to see his dad, and things would just get worse. His father's advice played in the background of his mind, though, quiet but powerful. _Just because it's easy doesn't mean it's right._

Damn it, he was right. Archie laid in bed, staring at the ceiling deep in thought. It was almost 6 am; he'd fallen asleep early and woken up at half past 5. The Blossoms would be expecting him downstairs in an hour or two. They had some weird tradition of breakfast every morning, all of them together. Archie suspected it was just another excuse to attempt to integrate him into the family, though he wasn't entirely sure how that would work. If the Blossoms obtained guardianship over him until he turned 18, wouldn't it be a little weird if their legal dependent then married their daughter soon after? He decided it wouldn't bother them. It's not like kidnapping him and holding him against his will bothered them at all.

Well, for the most part. He still needed to find out what Cheryl thought of all this, especially without her parents breathing down their necks. He didn't know how he would learn that, but it wouldn't really matter if he was breaking down their front gate and speeding away in his dad's truck. He hoped to God that Fred Andrews didn't come for the truck before he had the chance to escape. He just needed to survive this stupid dinner party and make it to the video call. Maybe he'd try to escape before the call. He didn't really care. Staring at the ceiling, his mind drifted towards his friends: Betty swatting his arm and laughing when he told a dirty joke, Veronica smirking and cleverly making fun of him, Jughead rolling his eyes and ordering another milkshake with a barely visible smile. Valerie, warm brown eyes on him as he finished a song, proud, loving; her own song a powerful, firecracker lullaby. His hand in her hair when they kissed, her hand on his day-old-shave jawline. God, he missed her. He missed all of them. And as cliché and pathetic as it sounded, Archie missed his mom. He thought about life with his parents, the early days when his memory was full of sunshine and apple orchards and drive-in movies.

He wondered how Riverdale was dealing with his absence. There weren't many people he didn't know, and the people he did know often had connections. _So did the Blossoms._ That was how they were getting away with this so far. He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. 6:21. He should probably get dressed. Taking a deep breath, Archie stood up and walked over to the wardrobe. He wistfully recalled his jeans and T-shirts, his varsity jacket and tennis shoes. Pulling on a cashmere sweater and some corduroy pants, Archie noticed the shadow cast behind the closed door to his room. _His room was at home._ This was not his home, and it never would be.

"Cheryl?" His voice wasn't harsh, but she still jumped slightly. The door opened then, and she poked her ginger head in.

Locking eyes with him, she murmured, "Oh. You're awake."

A beat of silence, then Archie told her, voice firm, "I know I have to come downstairs. You don't have to remind me." ' _I'm not a two year old.'_

Cheryl nodded, entering the room and looking out the window. "I know." She looked back at him, and Archie thought he caught something in her eyes. A flicker of resistance, a message that they were alike in some ways. Quiet, almost inaudible, she said, "This is the only time I can talk with you alone." Archie swallowed, glad that he was getting through to her but hoping it wasn't just because she liked him. He knew she had a thing for him, even if it was simply sexual. Logic told him he could use that to his advantage. Everything else told him to stay away. That was too risky, and it would feel wrong, in too many ways.

"We can wait to go downstairs," Archie said, and the suggestion seemed to perk her up. With hesitance, she smiled at him and sat down on a chair next to the fire. Archie was reluctant, too, but it was the smartest thing to do: get Cheryl on his side, maybe even ask her to help him. "So what do you do for fun around here?"

Cheryl smiled a touch, admitting, "Not much. I like to play piano sometimes, or chess. We have a pool, but…"

Archie ducked his head, swallowing before muttering, "But I can't go outside."

Technically he had her right where he wanted her. She was comfortable enough to talk to him, and there was a clear expression of guilt on her face. He waited, for a sign or what, he didn't know. But Cheryl just sat up straighter and offered brightly, "Maybe I can get Mommy and Daddy to let you swim with me soon." _He could run then._ The woods weren't too hard to navigate, even if they were on Blossom property. He started to nod, but Cheryl frowned, looking at the fire. "They'll probably say no." Archie's shoulders sank. He watched the fire reflected through Cheryl's dark brown eyes, her subtle morbid curiosity shining through for a brief moment before she turned back to Archie. "Well, we should go downstairs now. Don't want anyone upset, now, would we?" Her tone was scathing, though, sarcastic. Archie could work with this.

* * *

Fred Andrews had left the grief stage of his son's kidnapping, entering one of black moods and sullen anger. He had a short fuse, but Jughead and Betty continued to check with him every day, making sure there were no new messages or demands. Fred sat staring at a messy spread of legal documents all over his kitchen table when he got the text on the sixth day since Archie had been taken. Fred had almost taken Betty's advice to show the first message they all got to the FBI, the police, something, but he knew he couldn't when he found a note slipped under his door that they had heard the suggestion and were watching him. Terrified, Fred had torn up half of his house searching for bugs, finding nothing but becoming acutely aware of the unfamiliar woman who stopped across across the street every day. He still did next to nothing in his house, avoiding speaking in it and only having meaningful conversations at work or outside. He knew his son's friends felt sorry for him—he was a wreck, and he knew it. But even though Fred despised pity, Betty, Jughead, and Veronica were helping. They comforted him, and while Fred had tried working up the courage to call Archie's mother, it was getting harder and harder to think about telling her. Betty insisted they get her involved; after all, she was a lawyer, and a good one. But Fred was scared, scared of what they could do to Archie if Fred called on anyone for help of any kind. He didn't want to admit it, but Mary barreled in head first, sometimes without thought as to what might happen because of it. He couldn't risk Archie getting hurt like that.

He got the message just as the sun was setting. He felt a deep, instinctual urge to throw the phone across the room, but he calmed himself down enough to turn on the screen and unlock it.

 _Good afternoon, Mr. Andrews. This is a request that you come to the Blossom mansion tomorrow morning. We understand you have been without a vehicle for the past week and while it is relatively easy to travel the small town of Riverdale without one, we insist on returning it to you. While you will not be able to communicate with Archibald at the time you obtain your vehicle, we have arranged for a video call to be made in two days. Be at your computer screen, alone, on that day at 2:00 pm sharp. Expect an associate of ours to be at your house before this to supervise the call. Archibald is pleasantly eager. Do not disappoint him, or us._

"Fucking bastards," he snarled, throwing his phone onto the couch and pacing, his hands gripping his hair anxiously.

"What now?"

Fred whirled around, hands dropping to his sides when he caught sight of the dangerously focused, enraged woman standing in the kitchen doorway. "Mary," he breathed.

"Why the hell didn't you call me? Betty Cooper was the one who got me here." She gave him a dark look, not moving as her eyes followed Fred's renewed pacing. "Just because he doesn't live with me doesn't mean I shouldn't be involved."

"I know." Fred's voice was quiet, tired.

"Jesus, Fred!" She slammed her purse down on the kitchen table, sending a couple of loose papers up into the air before they floated down like snowflakes. "When were you going to tell me? When they were his legal guardians? He's my goddamn son too, Fred."

"Well what can you do?" Fred yelled, spreading his hands in a question, eyes wild. "What the hell are you going to do to make this better? Mary, this isn't something we can fix with a lawsuit. This doesn't just take guts, this takes a miracle. Or several."

A long, acrid silence followed. "Are you done?" Mary was no-nonsense, firm. She'd crossed her arms, and Fred looked her in the eyes, anger fading slowly.

"Mary," he said, his voice breaking as he closed his eyes and covered them with one hand. "What are we going to do?"


End file.
